Revenge
by Marshmallows rock
Summary: Set post "The Anniversary". Basil takes his frustrations of the day out on Polly.


I own nothing to do with Fawlty Towers except the series two DVD.

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When Basil explained to Sybil about his intended way of celebrating their anniversary, it was the first time in living memory that he had silenced her. When she eventually said anything, it was that she was going to stay at Audrey's that night and would come back tomorrow morning. This caused Basil to go into his worst rage yet, about how he couldn't keep the hotel functioning alone for the next twenty-four hours.

"How is he?" Terry asked Polly, just before he finished his shift that night. Nobody needed to ask who "he" was. Basil had been seen by hardly anyone since Sybil had left that afternoon. He was found in his room up the stairs, just staring at the wall.

"Not good," Polly sighed, bringing back some plates from table seven.

"I don't know why he's acting so strange. It's not as if she's left him permanently."

Ten minutes later, Terry and Manuel finished off their shifts. Polly could have gone as well, but somebody needed to stay and run the hotel, since Basil was not in a fit state to do so.

Terry was concerned about her manning the hotel single handed, and despite her assurances that she would be fine, left her his phone number in case anything went wrong. He didn't know why, but he felt as though something, just something could go wrong.

By half past eleven, Polly was flagging. She had dealt with the bar, found the Major's newspaper (which he had left downstairs) and made some Horlicks for the kindly lady in number five who reminded Polly of her next-door neighbour from when she was a child.

It was just as she was putting the milk back in the fridge, that she thought about Basil. He hadn't had anything to eat for a long time and maybe some food would make him feel better.

"Mr Fawlty?" she called, knocking softly at the door, balancing a plate of ham sandwiches.

Basil had been drinking. Not very much but he had had two glasses of whisky from the bottle he kept under the squeaky floorboard for when Sybil was being particularly annoying.  
Sleeping it off, he woke up when he heard a knocking at the door. He was angry. Which one of the bloody guests was disturbing him at this hour? Didn't he have enough to deal with, without some idiot complaining that their radiator didn't work, when they could have come to him at a more civilised hour?

When the door opened it wasn't one of the guests. He was mistaken.

Basil's furious temper, helping of alcohol and his continual mulling over of the events of that morning had drawn him to the conclusion that the mess this morning was all Polly's fault. She had told him to say his wife was ill.

Now she was going to pay for this.

'I brought you some sandwiches, Mr Fawlty, I thought you'd be-" she broke off, noticing the expression on his face. "Are you alright?"

"You." The voice was one of pure loathing.

Polly was scared now. She had known her boss had a temper on him but never had she seen it this bad.

"It's your fault," the dark figure sitting on the bed hissed.

"What's my fault?"  
"Sybil's gone. You said to say she was ill and I thought it was a good idea. Fucking stupid. Now she's probably off, making a twit of herself with some poor sod in a nightclub, while I am stuck here in this Godforsaken, unfashionable dump of a hotel!"

Polly didn't have time to move. Basil lunged forward, grabbed her by the arm, and slapped her so hard across the face that she fell backwards and landed with a thud on Sibyl's bed.

Her cheek stinging and her fear mounting, Polly had only one thought running through her head. _ Get up, get out, get away._

"Mr Fawlty!" she was screaming now, as she heard him moving towards her. The room was so dark that she couldn't see, and her hair had been dislodged from its elegant updo and was now flying across her face, further impairing her vision.  
Basil's blood was now up and he was hungry for revenge. He had always though Polly was attractive and had fancied a night with her on more than one occasion. Now, his wife wasn't around to stop him.

Another blow, across her chest this time, and Polly was almost crying in agony.

Heavy breathing nearby told her she was on borrowed time and she was about to jump up and move when Basil jumped on top of her. He was angry, she could tell and hitting him to get him off wasn't doing any favours.

As his hand managed to rip off one sleeve of her dress completely and start up towards her bra, Polly managed to find a hardback copy of a Harold Robbins that Sybil had left by the bed. Knowing this could be her only chance to get away, she brought the heavy novel down on top of his head.

His yell of pain was all that she needed to get away. As his hands left her chest and flew up to dull the sting in his head, she slipped out from under him and fled for the door, and the stairs.

Polly didn't look back until she was safely at the bottom of the stairs and behind the front desk. Shaking with fear and anger, her eyes caught a small slip of paper left on the desk.

_Pol,_

_Call me if you need any help with the hotel_

_Terry_

Written at the bottom was a phone number.

Polly looked at the grandfather clock. Ten minutes to midnight. He might still be up. She hated to disturb him but she had enough sense to know that she was way out of her depth dealing with her psychopathic boss.

When the phone rang, Terry was reading a book about karate his friend had lent him. He had been so engrossed it took him several minutes to answer the phone.

When he picked it up, he couldn't hear anything, and was about to put the phone down, when he heard a small voice at the other end whispering "Please come. He's gone beserk." He knew who was being referred to.

When Terry arrived at Fawlty Towers ten minutes later, he went straight into reception only to find there was nobody there. He was about to go and look around when he saw a figure in the private office.

"Pol?"

Polly looked a mess. Her hair was untidy, she had lost one sleeve of her dress, her tights were ripped and most worryingly there were several bruises visible on her arms and face.

"What did he do?" was the first thing he managed.

"Don't ask, Terry," she sobbed, as he came to give her a hug. "Please don't ask."


End file.
